Fat Crybabies
by Contra Mundi
Summary: Remember the first Flying lesson, when Neville fell off his broom? Parvati does. She remembers alot about it. She remembers Pansy's taunt: 'Never thought YOU'D fancy fat crybabies, Parvati.'


Parvati Patil crouched below the cracked stone wall. You couldn't understand war properly until you actually were in it. All those music-videos, those movies, the books - they couldn't bring you to a place where every other person could be your enemy. The black and white words, the images on the screen couldn't bring the acrid whiff of smoke to your nostrils. The screaming was loud - the obscene swearing even louder. And through it all, there definitely was _not_ any eyeliner-wearing band, strumming guitars while the lead-singer screamed.

Parvati whirled round, firing a dozen spells all at once. Three dozen came right back. One seared through her foot, bringing her to her knees. She had the brains to roll away before another zinged forward with her name on it.

Parvati could smell blood. It was probably her own.

_Great._

Did she have time to heal it?

Maybe.

The tip of her wand glowed green as she lowered it for a split-second -

- a masked face loomed before her. She wasn't worried about _that_. Parvati was actually more interested in the murderously pointed wand than in anything else.

_Goodbye Padma. Lavender. Mom. Dad. Grandma. At least she's not going to put me back into the cooking classes again - I'm worryin about curry when I ought to worry about how my guts are going to look all spilled out - oh well, nothing could ruin this outfit - what am I **thinking**?!_

All that took about half a second.

Then suddenly, as Parvati braced herself for the blow, someone threw themself before her. She heard a metallic _cling_ as the blue spell - dimly Parvati remembered it as _Lapsus Judicia_, a nasty spell, painful as _Avada Kedavra_ was quick and painless - bounced off a hastily erected spell shield.

"Th-tha-"

"No, it's no problem." Parvati recognized the voice, she knew she did. "The retreat's been sounded. Head back. Quick. Carry you if leg not healed?"

No time for full sentences. No time even for her to reply because next thing she knew, Parvati was on the Someone's bumpy shoulder with a bone in her gut. "Hey, I'm no damsel in distress," she started to say, her long plait falling out of her protective hat.

Her rescuer stared at the hair. "Oh. Definitely a damsel though."

Parvati cursed herself in language that would have made a Sikh truck-driver stand up. Of course she should have cut her hair. It was compulsory in fact. But how long had it taken her to grow that lovely long blue-black rope? She was _not_ going about with frizzy short hair that blew out in a triangle from around her oval face. No! The war was going to end soon and she was going to survive intact - with her hair. And preferably, most of her other body parts.

"Just put me down. We'll run alot faster." Parvati was dropped unceremoniously onto a corpse. She gagged automatically, before the face registered. "Kr--Krishna! Ginny Weasley!"

---

Parvati shivered as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The war was over now. _Just_ over. A copy of the Daily Prophet lay on her colorful bedspread. The headlines had screamed at her:

**WAR HEROES!**

Parvati nearly screamed back.

Especially at the sight of Ginny's pretty face, freckled and framed with wavy red hair. She was waving out, dressed in the Wizarding Army gear. Say what you liked about the Wizarding World. They believed in equality of the sexes at least. Male, female, they all died the same.

Parvati wasn't a war hero. Not like Harry Potter, and Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were. She was an ordinary soldier.

Neville's photo was there too. Parvati stared at the still round, still earnest face, uneasy smile on his lips. Typical Longbottom. His hair was just growing out and he had been dressed in a new suit. He looked completely nonplussed, and slightly frightened. His interview consisted of a lot of "Er. Um. Ah"

Parvati's lips twitched into a smile. Her heart went _twang_ and was ignored.

People always ignore things. For example, it would have saved Parvati Patil and Neville Longbottom both a great deal of trouble, if they hadn't been so absolutely _thick._

Love. You just can't beat it. Though I'm sure there're quite a few heartsick lovers who would like to try. Preferably with a club.

---

"Another braindead idea, courtesy of the Ministery of Public Relations," grumbled a Chinese woman, dressed in a black suit. She looked as if a bit of color would kill her - or induce her to kill _you_. Her eyes were dark, and her hair had been pulled messily back into a soft, flopping braid which reached only just past her shoulders. She tossed a thin folder onto the black man's desk.

He smiled up at her, making the thin scar on his cheek move as well. Kingsley Shacklebolt didn't look like he belonged behind a desk. He was tall, and broad, with coffee colored skin. The lamp-light gleamed off his bald pate and also the small gold earring he wore on his right ear. Despite the pin-striped suit, which he wore well, there was something about him that smelled of sunshine and rum - which completely belied the fact that he was a sleek, quick killer when necessary, as it had been, during the War. "Well now, Kat," he said, his deep, slow tones like pouring chocolate -

Kathryn Lim got a grip on herself. She had missed lunch.

"I wouldn't call a goodwill ball silly, especially when the tickets are so exorbitantly priced. Money, money, money..." Kingsley broke off the Abba song and raised his eyebrows at her. "And all those who have been in the war, plus ministry officials all get to go _free_. You do realise, it's compulsory - wait, of course, you do, why else are you sizzling like a barbeque?"

Kathryn crossed her arms defensively, glaring at her colleague. They had been in Hogwarts together, though Kathryn had never joined the Order, citing pacifist views. That is, other people weren't allowed to hit her. Vice versa, it was alright. During the war, she had been in a munitions factory, because say what you will, a gun can be so uncomplicated and soldiers don't have time for brains. Then the factory fell momentarily into Deatheater hands - and reason _momentarily_ had been added into the sentence was mainly because of Kathryn and her fellow-workers. Weapons, wands and women are a terrible combination.

"Don't tell me, let me guess," a slow, broad grin bared Kingsley's gleaming teeth. "You have nothing to wear?"

"Nothing suits me," grumbled Kathryn, looking away. "And I take it from your reaction that you have no problems with the whole rigmarole. I'll put your name down for the organizing commitee."

"Kat, loads of things suit you," said Kingsley patiently. "Don't go all girlie on me."

"I hate it when you act all chummy," snapped Kathryn, turning on her heel to go.

"Aren't we mates?" said Kingsley, rather bewilderedly as his office door was slammed. He shook his head, looking back down at the sample ticket which had fallen out of ther folder. _And partner_ the twirly script said. Kingsley tugged his earring. Now where would he find that?

---

"A ball?" groaned Neville Longbottom, his head of wavy, dark brown hair falling into his hands. "A _ball_? But we're grown up! Did I fight the war just to go to some school dance, grown up? English schools aren't even supposed to _have_ school dances! Why's _everyone_ becoming Americanized?"

"Neville, I think the Americans borrowed the idea of a ball from us," said Susan Bones. They were having lunch in the heavily heated greenhouse, Ministry sponsored. "Is it because this'll take time away from those Chinese wizard peaches that really might have miraculous properties like in the old stories?"

Mutely, Neville shook his head.

"Don't tell me," said Susan as apprehension dawned. "This is about the... _and partner_, isn't it?"

Neville's big, brown eyes said it all and more.

Susan gaped at him. "Neville. _Neville_. What are you _worried_ about?" When shocked, Susan always resorted to italics. "You're a _war hero_. You're an _amazing_ herbologist! You've gone _farther than your dreams!_ Girls will be _queueing_ up to go with you!" And he wasn't bad looking, she reflected, in the privacy of her blonde head. He had peachy skin, a sweet, shy smile and a long, lean, lanky frame which was still slightly clumsy, as if he couldn't quite get over the loss of baby-fat. Besides, girls went for scars these days - the War Hero look...

Susan sighed. Not that she'd ever gotten a chance to see Neville's scars - except that one time he'd had to be rescued from the _Asphrodiacus Tentaculus_ which had ripped off his shirt and -- well, the wizards got there in time. The witches, on the other hand, had been so shocked that they were unable to move.

Or unwilling.

Susan quashed that thought down. "It might just be a rumor," she said consolingly, patting his head. "I'm sure no one else is worried about it except you. Remember the time when we heard old Figgistocking got his arm ripped off my those enchanted pink teddybears? It was completely wrong."

Neville nodded. "Was his leg that went missing instead," he muttered.

Susan beamed. "Precisely! So it might all be misconstrued."

---

**EVENT OF THE YEAR! WAR BALL: IN MEMORIAM. **

It came in the mail about the same time Parvati's invitation did. She scanned the paper, noting the debuntantes were already vying for a place at the ball and probably Harry Potter's just-mended heart. The article had been thickly sprinkled with exclamation marks. More than usual.

Parvati fell back on her bed, and wondered, just for a moment, how much she could sell her ticket for on e-Hogsmeade - "The selling sensation that's gripping the nation!"

What's the first thing a girl does, when she learns she'd been invited to a ball? In fact, _the_ ball of the century?

She calls up her sister, that's what.

Padma - a Mediwizard - had received nothing.

Parvati rushed to the Ministry, first thing, sure there was a mistake. The bored security wizard looked up from his post, managing to look Parvati up and down and sneering, all without glancing up from his coffee cup. Irritably, Parvati raised her voice. "I _said_, could you direct me to the elevators, please?" The Ministry was a criss-crossing madhouse of doors that led to different dimensions and godawful statues.

"Dumbwaiter's over there," said the wizard, jerking a thumb. He had evidently decided Parvati was not important, nor had important friends. Parvati shot a furious glare at the small cupboard that was lowered up and down, bringing food from to the kitchen to whoever ordered it.

Parvati slammed her hand down, jerking the coffee cup so much that it overturned and it spilt all over her hand. "Ow!" she cried, snatching her damp, burned hand away. So much for a gesture of I'm-important authority. The security wizard snorted, without so much as offering her a tissue. He grinned rudely at her.

"Hey, Karma Sutra babe, you gonna get your brothers out here to do some ritual hara kiri on me?"

"Excuse ME?" screeched Parvati, beginning to do her celebrated banshee imitation. A man looked over in shock, eyes widening. Then he scurried - but towards her, not away.

"IF you think I'm going to PUT UP with YOU BIGOTED NON-"

"Er, Miss-?"

"And don't YOU barge IN and attempt to save your FAT JERK OF A FRIEND BECAUSE I'M GOING TO WHACK HIM TO KINGDOM COME OH YEAH JUST WATCH ME!"

"Parvati? I mean, Ms. Patil?" A gentle hand landed on her shoulder, than not so gently pulled her around so the fist she had raised narrowly missed Neville's nose.

The security wizard was already rising to his feet, "You let me handle her, Mr. Longbottom, sir."

"That won't be necessary," said Neville, politely, still looking at Parvati who was absolutely _gaping_ at him with her eyes wide and mouth open. She looked like a bowling ball with hair. Ignoring the security wizard, he steered her away, down a curving corridor.

"Neville?" she said finally. "Mr Longbottom, sir?"

"Parvati?" he replied with a smile. "Ms. Patil, ma'am?" There was a pause, to allow Parvati's eyes to go from plates to creases as she smiled back. "Or is it Mrs. Something-or-other now?" he added, uncertainly.

"Still Ms. Patil, I'm afraid." They fell into step easily, Neville was taller than her by about a head. She might bump against his chin if they danced together. Parvati caught herself. _And already I'm imagining being Cinderella at the ball. As if Neville is the Prince. Or that I'm Cinderella, when we come right down to that..._

_...I'll bet he has truckloads of girls after him..._

_...I'll bet he has to **pry** them out of his desk drawers..._

"Pardon?"

"I said," Neville was blushing, and the color dusted his cheeks and the tops of his ears, "what are you doing here?"

"Oh!" Nervously, Parvati shoved hair off her face, tucking it behind her ears. "Uh - well, you see, you know the ball, right?"

Neville nodded, wincing a little. "That I do," he murmured.

"My sister wasn't invited," blurted out Parvati. "What're you making that face for? Didn't you get invited either? I can't believe that. They want girls to come, so they'd definitely invite you- oops."

He was really blushing now. He had ducked his head, rubbing the back of his rosy neck but oh Krishna, he was smiling and Parvati found herself smiling and blushing in sympathy. Her heart apparently thought Neville was so adorable that it was attempting to thump it's way out of her breast and rush at him. "Thanks," said Neville. "Thanks, Parvati. Means a lot, coming from you. Um. Yeah, I _am_ invited to the ball. I mean, not to attract the girls, um. You say your sister wasn't invited?"

"Yes, and she _was _in the war too. She was a mediwitch!" said Parvati indignantly. "So there's some mistake."

Neville stared off into the distance. "That's why you came? That's very... thoughtful of you. If you want," he offered, shyly. "I can help you find out about it. I'll send you an owl?"

Parvati brightened. "Thanks," she said. "That'd be great, Neville." They stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to face each other. Parvati gave him a grateful smile. She seemed to be doing a lot of smiling today, come to that...

"See you around then, Parvati," he said, with a wave as he began to walk away.

Parvati stayed a bit longer, watching his tall back disappear in the distance, until he glanced back, looking a little confused - at which point, she remembered herself and got herself out of the building.

Not before she enchanted the security wizard's chair to suddenly morph into a fat cactus of course.

---

"A ball." Parvati Patil attempted to pull herself out of the chimney, while Padma, the cooler, calmer, cleverer (Parvati: Hey!) sister sat on the bed, analyzing the Ministry's motives while her sister was stuck halfway in her chimney like a slimmer, female, Indian Santa Claus. "Well obviously, with the recent general/orderly scandals, they can hardly just give the tickets to war heroes - especially when a turn of power, or new information, could make those war heroes, war criminals instead. I suppose that's why we're invited. How exclusive."

"Padma, could you stop nattering on there and help me?" grunted Parvati, face almost purple as she dangled and attempted to dislodge her foot. "I mean, what kind of paranoid idiot actually hexes the chimney-!?"

"Streatham is getting more dangerous, you know. There have been several attacks - and anyway, the amusement afforded certainly makes up for having to apparate or use the train." Padma's face creased in a long smile. "I did tell you about it."

"It slipped out of my head as fast as Percy Weasley's lectures on etiquette," muttered Parvati. "I can't believe how little the war changed him. Hah. No, why'm I surprised? He was still with the Ministry - never saw the front -"

"He was working in the hospices, Parvati," snapped Padma. "Say what you like about my principles, I think saving lives is worthier than taking them and Percy Weasley did good work. He organized the place perfectly - before it looked like something out of the seventeenth century."

Parvati made a face - it was either of disgust and disagreement, constipation, or she was still trying to get out of the chimney. In a sudden shower of sparks and soot, she managed to dislodge herself and tumbled onto the carpet, smearing ashes everywhere. Padma leapt up.

"Parvati!"

"No, don't worry, I'm fine," Parvati grunted, starting to get up.

"This carpet is totally ruined!"

"WHAT? I'm nearly dead and you're - you're worried about the carpet?"

"You can't be nearly dead," snapped Padma, performing a cleaning spell on her precious Turkish rugs. "You're talking far too much."

Parvati scowled, brushing more ashes off her sweater and jeans. Parvati's spell, with a purr like a quieter vacumn cleaner, rushed around her feet, then climbed up: "Ee! Stop that! It tickles!"

Her ticket to the ball fell out as the spell burrowed into her pockets and cleaned up any lint or fluff there. Padma picked it up and studied it. "You know what?" she said slowly. "I think I know why I haven't been invited. I'm sure I'm not the only one. I think those in charge of the hospitals, those who didn't see action. Pacifists like me. I think we weren't invited."

Parvati stared at her sister. "Neville hasn't gotten back to me yet," she said. "I'm sure that's not the case."

"Do you think the Government will stop being stupid just because it went through a war?" Padma shrugged. "You remember when I was sent a white chicken feather in a letter?" Her voice trailed off, as if she was seeing things only she could see. Her face was bitter as black coffee.

"Wait till Neville contacts me," said Parvati pleadingly. "Until then."

Padma shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

_It does_, thought Parvati, _to me._


End file.
